


Home (is not a place)

by NamelesslyNightlock



Series: Going Down Swinging [24]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Forced Separation, Immortal Tony Stark, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Reunions, Romantic Fluff, Stubborn Tony Stark, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, hostages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 16:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20708903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Taken to Asgard as gilded hostages at the end of a war, Loki and Anthony learn to love one another as they grow up in a world that dislikes them. Yet the thought of leaving is a dark one, because they were taken for a particular purpose– and when the time comes, they will be sent in two very different directions.





	Home (is not a place)

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt**— _“I’m not okay.”_

Anthony couldn’t remember the war. He knew that it had raged for centuries– that Jotunheim had risen up, trying to fight for… something. He also knew that they had since fallen into line, and that in order to ensure they nor any other realm considered such an uprising again the Allfather had taken the heir of not only Jotunheim, but_ every_ realm other than his own. The heirs were to be raised _Asgardian_, so that when it was time for them to return home and rule, they would do so peacefully.

And to be honest, Anthony didn’t think that his lot in life was so bad. After all, mortals were only supposed to live a single century, but after being fed a golden apple as a babe he was now already well into his eleventh. And if Anthony had not been taken from his birthplace, then he never would have met Loki.

Loki was Anthony’s closest companion, and he was a Jötunn. That meant that his skin was blue and his eyes were red, and he had small horns that curled from his forehead and grew longer the older he got. Anthony had always thought that Loki looked beautiful, but… he knew that no one else on Asgard agreed.

The war, after all, had raged between the Jötnar and the Aesir, and even though they looked down upon Anthony as being little more than the dirt upon their shoes, the Aesir considered Loki as just a little less than a monster.

The fact that they couldn’t do anything in response to the taunts was more frustrating than anything. The princes (and one princess) who had been stolen by the Allfather were expected to follow a strict protocol, and even though Anthony had seen Loki in the training grounds and had _seen_ him best Aesir far older and far more experienced than any of them, Loki knew the consequences of fighting back in the streets too well to be willing to act upon his urges– at least… not overtly.

Anthony had seen the little tricks, the objects moved into paths to trip feet, followed by the slightest shimmer of green. He had seen the tankards that tipped over from nothing but air, and the drinks that seemed to refill without notice until the drinker was drunker than they realised– the plots and the _crimes_ that always, somehow, were committed by people who were _sure_ they hadn’t done it, despite all the evidence pointing toward them.

And Anthony was proud of his friend for fighting back, in whatever small capacity they could manage without suffering consequences for it.

The Allfather had… _fostered_ six children– other than Anthony and Loki, there were also Fjölnir of Alfheim, Eitri of Niðavellir, Hnoss of Vanaheim, and Hálogi of Muspelheim. None of the other children’s homelands had defied Asgard– the official story was that they had been taken to be schooled, to be educated for the betterment of their own realm. It was only _Loki_ who was derided and hated.

He always said that he didn’t mind, so long as Anthony was by his side to help him bear it. But Anthony could see the slump of his shoulders, and he could see the pain in his eyes.

And it… hurt.

Perhaps the hardest part about it was that they didn’t even remember what it felt like to be among their own people. For all intents and purposes, they _were_ Asgardian– and only the blood that ran through their veins and the skin on their back marked them as something else.

Loki could even shapeshift, if he wanted– he had done it a lot when they had been children, because he had quickly learned that their teachers and the other children were less likely to flinch away if they saw creamy skin instead of blue, and green eyes instead of red.

Anthony was at least glad that when Loki transformed himself like that, he at least decided to make his eyes the bright colour of his seiðr– so that when Anthony looked into them, it still felt like he was gazing at Loki _himself_, rather than into the eyes of someone else. Though even when Loki’s skin melted into that of another race, even if he were to make his hair blonde and his eyes blue to look more like the Aesir’s own lauded prince, Anthony knew that he would still be able to recognise Loki anywhere– because he knew Loki even better than he knew himself.

Anthony couldn’t remember a time when he and Loki weren’t attached at the hip– they had been a pair since day one, the two outcasts who had originally become each other’s friend because they were the only ones who would, and then had stayed so because they matched perfectly well. They could hardly be separated as children, and then, when they grew older, long nights pressed together melted into mornings of soft kisses, Loki’s skin feeling impossibly cool and wonderfully soothing against Anthony’s own hot flush.

They had found something perfect with each other, no matter the cooking pot that it had been mixed together in. They _were_ happy together, but…

Well, they never could be allowed to forget _why_ they were there, because the taunts would never stop.

“Frost Giant.”

“_Monster._”

“Should have been killed—”

“Should have been _put down_—”

“The Allfather is too merciful. If he killed them all, then this problem would not exist.”

“He’s not a problem,” Anthony snarled, stepping angrily toward the Aesir who had made the mistake of saying such a thing within Anthony’s hearing_. _“Don’t you _dare_ call him that!”

“What would you know, _mortal_?” the first Aesir’s friend replied. “You know nothing of—”

“I was raised here, same as you,” Anthony snapped back. “In fact– I was raised here with a _better_ education than you. I am to rule Midgard—”

“Anthony,” Loki soothed, just as he had every other time, and just as he would every time to come.

“No, Loki,” Anthony complained. “They shouldn’t say such things—”

“But they always will, no matter what you do. You are only going to bring trouble down on yourself.”

Loki’s expression would always be bleeding with such concern in such moments that Anthony would never have a choice but to give up, to fall into Loki’s arms and allow the familiar comfort to calm his tense muscles and his thundering heart at least, even if his thoughts continued to race.

Because the problem was not so much that the Aesir said such things– it was that sometimes, Anthony found himself afraid that Loki had started to believe it. He would get a dark look in his beautiful crimson eyes that made it seem as if he were wishing he could be anywhere else, as if Asgard were becoming too much. Anthony would thread his fingers through Loki’s soft hair, and he would pull his best friend, his _lover_ in as close to him as he could.

Nothing would ever be able to comfort him as well as Loki could– they would always be the only two that mattered, even the other stolen princes falling to the wayside.

What they had on Asgard was far from perfect– they may have been raised to love the Allfather as did all Aesir, but both of them were far too intelligent not to read between the lines. They knew _why_ they were there– they were not cared for as sons, and they had not been taken out of any intention for kindness. They were there to learn to become puppets– nothing more, and nothing less.

They were tools, pieces in a game that was far larger than themselves– but that didn’t mean that they had to play it.

They had been treated too harshly to ever believe themselves to be anything other than outsiders, and as time went on, the more they began to resent their intended purpose.

But in the face of the Allfather’s power, what was there that they could do?

And the older they got, the more they clung to each other– because that intended purpose? Well… Anthony and Loki were not from the same realm, and when the day came for them to fulfil the role that the Norns had selected for them, they would be so very far apart that they would likely never see each other again.

Whenever Anthony thought of that fact, it sent a shard of pain through him that seemed to grow worse with every passing day. He would clutch Loki as close to himself as possible, trying to soothe away his worries with strokes over Loki’s ridged blue skin, pressing kisses to every bit of his lover that he could reach while Loki did exactly the same.

It was cruel that their Asgardian carers had allowed them to get so close– but when Anthony thought of what it would have been like to not have had Loki at all… well, that thought was simply too terrible to contemplate.

At least this way, he knew what it was to have loved and been loved in return– and he could only _hope_ that to have loved and lost was not as bad as to have never loved at all.

—

Eitri was the first to go. He was the oldest of all of them, and he had reached the age that was old enough to claim a throne by Asgardian law. Anthony knew from his studies that had Eitri remained home, he could have claimed the throne of Niðavellir years earlier, but– they had all been taught the _Asgardian_ ways, thus it was only now that Eitri would leave.

Anthony knew that the soon to be king would be fine. Eitri was strong, and he had been trained as a master weaponsmith by dwarves who had been allowed into Asgard for that very purpose– for Niðavellir would never accept a king who was anything else. Anthony had benefited from those visits as well, for when the dwarves had seen his interest they had been willing to teach him– or rather, they had been willing to boast about their craft to a mere Midgardian who was sure not to understand the intricacies of their words, not realising that Anthony simply soaked it all up like a sponge, storing the knowledge so that he could try it himself at a later time.

But despite enjoying the visits from the dwarves, Anthony couldn’t help but feel a little jealous– for he had not met another Midgardian in his life. Mortals, after all, were not permitted on Asgard, with he as the only exception due to his position as the one the Aesir had chosen to steal, and due to the fact that his consumption of a golden apple as a babe meant that he was technically no longer a mortal at all.

And besides, Anthony was not alone in his loneliness, for Loki had never met another Jötunn– because of course, the Allfather was not about to allow Loki to consort with Asgard’s enemies.

It made the whole process a whole lot more daunting, because it was clear that the Allfather did not understand what he was about to hurl them into– or perhaps he simply did not care.

Were they expected to simply be thrown back into the places they had been stolen from, touting Asgardian politics and sitting on the throne? At least they knew some of Loki’s family were still alive. Anthony had been stolen so many centuries ago that there was little chance of his family being anything other than dust.

Honestly, his prediction was that he would be assassinated within the month.

But that was not even his biggest concern, because… after Eitri was gone, he was followed a few months later by Fjölnir, and then next, it would be Loki’s turn. Loki was older than Anthony, but only by a few months. He would be leaving for Jotunheim, and Anthony would be staying in Asgard _alone_ until he was old enough to be sent back to Midgard.

It was an honestly terrifying prospect, but one they did not speak about. It had been hovering over their heads for as long as either of them knew, and it remained shrouded in the shadows of denial until it was right upon them, looming over their bed and poisoning their last few moments with dread.

Anthony _tried_ to make their last night sweet. He held Loki in his arms and kissed every line across his face, traced every inch of his skin first with his fingers and then with his lips, memorising a face and a body that he had long since come to know far better than his own. Loki had leaned into it, looking almost like he wanted to close his eyes and enjoy the touch but was forcing them open so he did not miss a thing. And when they swapped, and it was Loki’s turn to worship Anthony’s body, Anthony had tried to hold on to the feel of Loki’s hands over his skin, the sensations they wrought and the warmth that filled his heart. And when Anthony could no longer lay still, they surged together with the passion of two people who had loved for so very long. 

But… every touch was tinged with sadness, every kiss tasted of salt. There was bitterness in the air that hung heavy on the tip of his tongue, and there was something thick lodged in his throat that he couldn’t be rid of no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down.

It slowed their movements until they were just holding each other, it broke their whispered promises of love until there was nothing left that they could say. Because how could you swear to love someone forever when you might never see them again? How can you do that, and expect to remain whole?

There was no easy answer, because Anthony knew there would be no other for him– just as he knew that his heart would leave with Loki, and Loki’s would stay with him. They were both careening along a path that lead to nothing but a yearning ache which would never go away, and there was nothing…

Nothing that they could do to stop it.

Their separation was the Allfather’s will, and it always had been.

But rather than make it easier to bear, the inevitability of it all only made Anthony feel _worse_. 

“I can’t do this,” Anthony whispered, his face buried into the curve of Loki’s neck, his arms wrapped around Loki’s waist as best as their position on the bed allowed. “Loki, I love you. I can’t let you go.”

“It’s all right, Anthony,” Loki said softly– but his hand trembled where it stroked Anthony’s back, his lips lingered far longer than they should have when he pressed a kiss to the top of Anthony’s head, and his voice was a little broken as he whispered, “I love you too. It’s okay.”

“No,” Anthony whispered. “No, it’s _not_.”

His denial started soft but the last word came out in a _snarl_. Loki paused for a moment, and then he gently coaxed Anthony’s head up so that they could look at each other.

“Anthony,” he said. “What are you—”

“What they’re doing is _not_ okay, Loki,,” Anthony said fiercely. “I’m not okay with this, and I never will be. We were stolen from our homes, we were _taken_. We’re not supposed to be this, we’re not supposed to be _Asgardian_.”

“Then I was never supposed to have met you,” Loki replied. “And Anthony… I cannot live with the thought of what life might have been like, then. You are everything to me.”

“You’re everything to me, too,” Anthony said. “And I _can’t lose you_. I refuse.”

A glint of interest entered Loki’s eyes, but then a moment later he sighed. “You should be careful of what you say—”

“Why? What more can they do to us?” Anthony shook his head, feeling so bitter that he could taste it on his tongue. “They’ve treated us well, given us food and schooling and a home– and so what? We had all that already. You _know_ what Odin wants us for. Is that what you want for yourself?”

“You know it isn’t,” Loki said immediately– because, yeah, they’d talked about it more than once, what they would have done with their lives if they’d been lucky enough to have a choice. Anthony knew that Loki wanted somewhere small, and he wanted to use his seiðr to not only do amazing things, but to teach others to do the same, to give them the chances he would have been denied upon Asgard if not for his own dedication to self-study. And Anthony… well. He rather liked the idea of a forge of his own, a place to invent and to _create_ to his heart’s content.

But neither of them would ever be able to have any of that. From what Anthony had read in his studies of his birth realm, he gleaned the impression that a single ruler would not be made welcome– but he would be sent regardless. And Loki would be going to Jotunheim, where the home of the giants _did_ have the one throne.

Unless…

“You have brothers, right?” Anthony asked.

“I have read that I do,” Loki replied easily, the centuries’ old wound not even stinging anymore, save for the anger it brought to their minds. But with anger came determination, and Anthony saw the very moment understanding entered Loki’s gaze.

“There, you see?” Anthony said. “This is not the end.”

“This is not goodbye,” Loki agreed, his eyes flashing now with that familiar desire to _fight_ for what they both wanted more than anything. “I will find you, and we will be together again.”

“We will,” Anthony swore. “Odin can steal us from our homes, and he can rip us from our families, but we’re sure as hell not going to let him tear us from each other.”

“He has controlled us our whole lives,” Loki said. “But no longer. I know where I am headed, but… what are _you_ going to do?”

And Anthony smirked, feeling a _rush_ at finally doing what they should have years ago. “Probably something dangerous.”

Loki winced, but his gaze hardened, knowing that it was unavoidable. After all, Loki would be taking risks himself. “Just… Anthony, please promise me that you’ll be careful?”

When Anthony responded to that with a kiss, he knew Loki would not misunderstand– because they both knew that was a promise that Anthony could not keep. He would always make an effort to keep himself safe for Loki’s sake, but when taking a chance and doing something reckless might be the only way for Anthony to get back to Loki? Then he would do it, no questions asked.

They did not spend the rest of the night talking of their ideas, or even of the hope for their future. Because now that they had a plan in mind, they knew it only meant that it would either work and they would be together, or it would fail and they would both suffer the painful consequences. So instead of dwelling on what _might_ happen, they held on for just a little longer, focusing on what they had, right there in that very moment.

And, for just a few short hours before dawn, they could almost pretend that they were happy.

—

Watching Loki being sent to Jotunheim was the hardest thing that Anthony had ever done. He had been permitted to be present only on the whim of Prince Thor, who most likely found the thought of a Jötunn with a lover amusing. Odin, of course, had not deemed the event important enough to warrant his presence, and had sent the heir of Asgard’s throne in his stead, just as he had with the two to leave previously. Anthony had been apprehensive, since Thor was known to hate the Jötnar with even more passion than his father, although… Thor’s gaze was almost sad as he watched them embrace before Loki stepped before the Bifröst, preparing to be sent away from Asgard and back to the realm where he was born.

Anthony stayed close as long as he was allowed, and Loki clutched him to his chest, very clearly unwilling to let go.

“Anthony,” Loki whispered, his voice heavy. “If we are to be parted forever—”

“No, Loki,” Anthony insisted. “You promised, you _swore_ that we would find each other again, you can’t give up on that now—”

“Anthony,” Loki said, his eyes achingly fond as he held his hand to Anthony’s cheek. “I will never give up on you.”

Heimdall made an impatient noise, but Anthony merely pressed up on the tips of his toes and pulled Loki down for a searing kiss, pouring everything he was into that one embrace– into that kiss that he would _not_ allow to become the last.

“I love you,” Anthony whispered. “I’ll find you.”

“I love you, too,” Loki responded. “I’ll be waiting.”

And then Loki tore himself from Anthony’s arms, and Anthony watched as he was ripped away from Asgard in a blinding blur of light.

—

The next few months were difficult, but not as hard as that initial goodbye– because with every passing day, Anthony could feel like he was getting closer to saying hello once more.

They were still the most testing months of Anthony’s life.

It was the little things that hurt the most. He would see something funny and turn to make a joke, only to find an empty space at his side. Or perhaps he would find an item or a book that he knew Loki would enjoy, and he would pick it up to bring back to their rooms, only to remember that Loki would not be there. Perhaps even worse than that were the nights, for he found that he couldn’t sleep soundly, and that affected his concentration more than he had planned for. He would wake in the middle of the night feeling empty and much, much too hot, and he would reach out unconsciously for something that was not there. It would only be when his hands hit the bare mattress that he would realise he was alone.

He only had to survive a few months on his own, but he only _had_ those few months to be able to make his plan work. It made him wish that he and Loki had forced themselves to think on it before they had reached their last night– but they had needed that dark realisation that they could lose each other to pull them from their bubble, to remind them of the end that was near.

So Anthony spent hours upon _hours_ in the library, and he spoke with the people he needed to. He made his rounds and he worked as hard as he could on his remaining duties, making sure that there was nothing left unfinished, that there would be no reason for the Allfather or the other Asgardians to ever suspect that there was something amiss.

And he tentatively visited the Bifröst, asking a few questions and perhaps taking a quick look at the mechanism. Heimdall seemed a little wary, but bought his story that he had been curious when he had watched it work to take Loki away, and had wanted more information before he used it himself. 

And when the day came for Anthony to leave for Midgard, he truly felt like he had done all that he could.

“Will you miss Asgard?” Prince Thor asked, escorting Anthony personally down the rainbow bridge. He had remained quiet for most of the trek – there was only a hundred yards left or so until they reached the golden dome – but it seemed that silence was getting to him just as much as it was to Anthony.

“I have lived here all my life,” Anthony answered, not quite answering the question but giving enough for Thor to make his own inference.

Thor nodded in apparent understanding. “I suppose that even though you were not born here, Asgard is all you know.”

“No,” Anthony replied, feeling his hope surge a little as they stepped inside the golden dome at the end of the bridge. “Not _all_.”

Anthony remembered the day that Loki left with perfect clarity. It was burned into his mind like a scar, and he knew he would never forget a moment of it– from the feel of Loki’s lips and the curve of Loki’s sad smile to the _exact position_ that Heimdall had aimed the Bifröst.

You see, he was a _smith_, and he had learned from the very best. His insidious questions and low standing as a mortal meant he had more understanding of dwarven craftsmanship than any Aesir, and he had studied the Bifröst itself obsessively for the past few months.

The dwarves _made_ Heimdall’s golden dome, and they had also bragged that they could, if they wished to, make something even better– a weapon or other such object which could focus the Bifröst’s power and allow its wielder to control it.

The Asgardian bridge was a focus, a _lens,_ but it was not the Bifröst itself.

“Are you ready?” Thor asked, almost making Anthony jump.

“Yes,” Anthony said. “I think I am.” He realised a little too late how that would sound– Thor seemed a little surprised by his stoicism. So he added, “I’m never going to see Asgard again, am I?”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Thor said brightly. “You will of course return for meetings between the rulers of the realms, as well as for other diplomatic matters.” Thor offered a smile then, and Anthony could tell that he was at least _trying_ to be kind. “Maybe you will be able to see your Jötunn again.”

“I would like that,” Anthony replied– and it was the truest answer that he had given over the course of the whole conversation.

He stepped up to the front of the dome, and he stared straight forward– turned toward his future, not worried about looking back.

“Anthony Stark of Midgard,” Heimdall said. “Are you ready to go back home?”

“Yes,” Anthony replied, lifting his chin. “I am ready.”

Then the dome began to shift and the world exploded into a mess of madness and chaos. He was engulfed in a technicolour cascade that threatened to overwhelm, but he reached out and focused his mind, honing in on that one thought, that one desire, that one aching, yearning _need_ to be beside just one single person in the whole of the universe, one person that would make him whole.

_Loki_.

And then he was slamming into the ground, landing face first and gaining a mouthful of freshly fallen snow.

His first thought, of course, was that Jotunheim was freaking _cold_.

Anthony felt his hands tremble the moment that he landed in the snow, his thin Asgardian clothes doing _nothing_ to protect him from the bite of the ice. He was sure that his lips would already be blue, and his skin was the palest white it had ever been. Every inhale _hurt,_ like he was breathing in shards of frozen crystal, like the insides of his lungs were freezing with the frosty air—

And then there were arms around him, and he felt a blanket of warmth curl through his body in a way that could only ever be the result of one person’s touch.

“_Loki_,” Anthony sighed, relaxing into his hold and letting the familiar feel of Loki’s seiðr wash over him.

“Anthony,” Loki replied, almost breathless with awe. “You’re _here_.”

“Yes,” Anthony whispered, leaning back just enough so that he could touch his lips to Loki’s. “We both are.”

Later, Loki would tell Anthony all about how he had abdicated his throne just as they had planned, how he had passed his crown to his younger brother Helblindi in exchange for a piece of land and permission to bring a Midgardian to live on the planet. There would be nothing Odin could do to subvert that without starting another war.

Even later still, they would have the chance to build a home of their _own_. And in a small town away from Jotunheim’s capital, Loki would train young Jötnar in seiðr, and Anthony would have his forge. They would create a life together– a life of their very own.

But for _now_, all that mattered was that they were on Jotunheim, and not only were they far from Asgard’s reach, but they were also together. And for the first time, there was no shadow hovering over their heads– and he and Loki could be really, truly happy. 


End file.
